Our Love Is Like A Rainbow
by caremkefo
Summary: In a world where everything is black and white until you meet your soul mate, Dean Winchester has all but given up on the chance of ever seeing the world in colour.


Dean stared at the display in the shop window, conscious of the hole in the elbow of his shirt and the oil stain on his jeans that wouldn't come out no matter how hard he scrubbed. He'd have to bring his brother down to help him pick some stuff out soon before his clothes became completely unwearable. They made it easy for those who hadn't met their soul mates by writing the colour on the labels, but it only gave you a rough idea and he still preferred the help of someone who could actually _see_.

Sam had been seeing in colour for ten years, now - since he met Jess in his first year at Stanford. They'd gotten engaged after four years, married after Sam graduated, and in two months time Dean was going to be an uncle.

Dean, on the other hand, was thirty-two and had given up all hope of ever meeting his soul mate. According to state statistics most people met their match in their early-mid twenties. Like Sam. Very few matched up in high school, and as you got older the chances of meeting your match got smaller, so Dean had all but given up hope. In fact, he was pretty sure he was going to die alone - a fact of which he was sorely reminded every time he saw his parents. They'd grown up together and had always seen in colour so when Mary's family had to move because her father's job took them halfway across the States, John's family moved with them. _That_ was how seriously people took soul mates.

He'd been with a woman for a year. Lisa, her name was. Her soul mate had passed away and they were both lonely, but then she ended things. She said she felt too guilty about keeping him from his soul mate. Dean let out a bitter chuckle at the memory, causing some random stranger to look at him funny. He hastily turned it into an unconvincing cough. They'd stayed in touch, though, and Dean always made a point of visiting on Ben's birthday. But with every passing year Lisa looked more and more sad to see him, knowing that he _still_ hadn't found his soul mate. She knew what he was missing out on.

He turned away from the shop window and started walking. Who'd fucking want to see in colour anyway? He didn't know any different. Lisa had always been wondering what colour things were, and he couldn't tell her. He couldn't imagine what it had been like for her to be in the middle of a perfectly ordinary day and have her whole colourful world suddenly plunge into black and white and _knowing_ that person you loved most in the whole world was dead.

He decided last minute that he wanted a coffee so ducked inside Biggerson's, blurting out an apology to someone he bumped into as he cut in front of them. The place was mobbed, he realised as he stepped inside, and he very nearly turned around and walked back out again - except for the sign that caught his eye declaring 'Coffee and Pie for $2!'

Dean started looking for an empty seat, even if it meant having to share a table. There was a guy in a suit who looked like he was sitting alone, so Dean headed over to him.

"Hey, dude," he asked casually. "Can I sit?"

"I'm sorry?" the man said, looking up.

Dean's legs buckled, and he caught himself on the back of the chair. It was like his sight had suddenly _exploded_, and his head was spinning. And the guy's eyes were so bright, they were... What colour were they?

"What colour are your eyes?" he blurted stupidly.

"Blue," the man said with a smile. "Or so I'm told."

"Blue," Dean echoed. "I like blue."

"Why do you ask?"

Dean sat down. "I just... They're nice eyes."

The man laughed humorlessly. "Thank you. I think."

"How old are you?" Dean asked, leaning across the table. He knew he was getting in the other guy's space but he wanted to drink in every detail about the man he'd waited his whole life for.

"Thirty-nine."

Dean's mouth moved and his fingers tapped against the table as he double checked his mental math. So the guy was seven years older than him. That wasn't much.

"Is this an interrogation?" the other man asked, squinting at him.

"No. Sorry, I just—"

"What can I get you?" the hassled looking waitress asked.

"Can't you see we're in the middle of a conversation here?" Dean snapped, then bit his tongue. "I'm sorry... Bela," he said, checking her name badge. "Black coffee and a slice of pecan pie, please."

"We're out of pecan."

"You got apple?"

"Yeah."

"Then that'll do."

"Coming up."

Dean turned back to the man - his _soul mate_, he reminded himself, the thought making him giddy - and realised that he was wearing the same distant expression as when he'd come over. His stomach sank.

"Is there... something wrong with me?" he asked hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer.

The man cocked his head to the side. "Why would you ask that?"

"I just... My whole damn world burst into colour and you look... You look disappointed," Dean said thickly.

The man looked shocked. "You can _see_?" he asked. "Me?"

Dean didn't answer. Couldn't even breathe. He'd waited thirty-two years for this and in some sick twist of fate he wasn't his soul mate's soul mate. Of course not. Nothing ever worked out in in his life - he should have learned that by now. Sam got everything with ease, and no matter how hard Dean tried he struggled.

His chair scraped against the floor as he stood up.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you," he said around the lump building in his throat, and all the colours were blurring together as his eyes swam. "I'll just, uh..."

He backed into a chair.

"Hey!" the man exclaimed. "Wait!"

As Dean stumbled his way past people there was a crash behind him and several exclamations of horror. He glanced back just in time to see three people hurry to help the man up, and a waitress gathering up broken shards of coffee cup.

"My pie," he said mournfully as she stepped in it and fell backwards.

His brother would tell him it was a sign.

With a resigned sigh he made his way back to his so-called soul mate. "You okay?" he asked.

"I've been better," he said. "Would you help me back to my seat?"

"You don't need me to—"

"I would much rather my soul mate aided me than abandoned me in the hands of a stranger," he said, fumbling until he grasped Dean's sleeve.

Realisation dawned on him. "Are you..." How did he ask it tactfully?

"Blind?" the other man finished for him.

Dean nodded dumbly. "Yes!" he blurted, realising that he couldn't see him.

"From birth."

"Oh," Dean said, staring at him and feeling stupid.

"Are we going back to my seat or are we going to stand here all day?" he asked.

"Shit, yeah," Dean said, leading him over to his seat. This time he noticed the white cane propped up against the table. "Why'd you come after me if you couldn't see where you were going?"

"You told me you were my soul mate and then you were leaving," he said. "What else was I supposed to do when you didn't even tell me your name?"

"Dean," he breathed. "Dean Winchester."

"Castiel Milton."

"I thought..."

"That you were one half of a whole?"

"Something like that."

Castiel hummed. "I always wondered how I would know when I met my soul mate given that I can't actually see. I certainly never pictured myself on the floor. At least not immediately," he added with a dirty grin.

Dean chuckled. "I can't promise that won't happen at some point in the future."

"I look forward to it. In the mean time, however, I suggest that you tell me about yourself."

Dean let out a chuckle. "There's not much to tell, believe me."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-two."

"Then I have thirty-two years to catch up on," Castiel said, leaning forward. "So start talking."

So Dean did. He talked about Sam, mostly, but Castiel listened eagerly and smiled at the passion with which he spoke about his brother, and in turn Castiel told him about his older brother Gabriel who had rebelled against the norm and fallen in love with a woman who was not his soul mate and who was perfectly happy seeing the world in black and white. They talked until a member of staff came and told them that the restaurant were closing, so they would need to leave.

Dean settled the bill, paying for Castiel's coffee as well as his own, and proceeded to walk him home. He helped him up the steps even though Castiel insisted he didn't need to.

"Dean, I appreciate that you want to help me but I am not useless."

"Sorry."

Castiel slid his key into the lock on the third try.

"So, uh, do you maybe want to do something tomorrow?" Dean asked, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

Castiel turned to him. "You mean like a date?"

"Yeah."

Castiel was silent for a long moment.

"Or if you wanna take things slow we could just go out as friends?" Dean offered.

"You misunderstand my lack of an answer, Dean. It's just that my parents are very old fashioned."

"What do you mean?"

"Now that I've found you, they'll want us to get married as soon as possible."

"Married?"

"I understand if that isn't how you would like to proceed, but—"

Dean dropped to one knee and took Castiel's hand in his. "Castiel Milton, I've been waiting my whole damn life for you."

"Dean, what are you—"

"Don't interrupt my proposal," Dean complained.

Castiel fell silent and grinned.

"Will you marry me?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. Yes, I will."

. * * * .

Two weeks later they were dressed in matching suits and waiting for Sam to tell them that the guests had arrived. The Miltons were unhappy that Dean and Castiel had arranged their own wedding as it went against tradition, and had spent the last fourteen days offering suggestions that went ignored. The Winchesters, in contrast, while concerned at the speed with which things were happening, had refused to interfere.

"Sam says my flower is blue," Castiel said to Dean, touching the flower pinned to his jacket.

"Stop playing with it!" Dean complained. "You'll make it fall off."

"Why blue? Is it significant?"

"It's my favourite colour," Dean said, straightening the flower.

"You've been able to see colours for two weeks and already you have a favourite? What's so special about blue?"

Dean blushed. "It's the first colour I saw."

Castiel looked a little crestfallen.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought, perhaps... Never mind."

"What?"

"That it was because it was the colour of my eyes. I was being silly."

Dean kissed his cheek. "No you weren't."

"But—"

"Your eyes were the first thing I saw."

"What colour are your eyes?"

"Green."

"Then green is _my_ favourite colour," Castiel smiled.


End file.
